


Duets with a Princess

by usermechanics



Series: usermechanics' Love Live All Stars Request-a-Thon [7]
Category: Love Live! School Idol Project, Love Live! Sunshine!!
Genre: F/F, Jazz - Freeform, Performing Arts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 06:35:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23347042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usermechanics/pseuds/usermechanics
Summary: During an open mic night, Riko falls for quite the lovely performer.
Relationships: Nishikino Maki/Sakurauchi Riko
Series: usermechanics' Love Live All Stars Request-a-Thon [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1659109
Kudos: 16





	Duets with a Princess

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I'm a bit surprised at how many SFW requests I've been getting, considering how my main stuff is NSFW, but I definitely can't argue against it.

If there was ever a sound that Riko adored, it was that of jazz.

Surely, the idol pop and classical music that had dominated her listening habits throughout high school were held in high regard by her, but neither of them held the same kind of spirit in her eyes. There wasn’t the easygoingness underneath the fluidity and excellence the musicians played, nothing as dark and sensual in her eyes, nothing that seemed to fit the ennui that held her college years besides that of jazz.

As much as she had the piano underneath her fingers whenever she sat down, it eluded her. The harmonies were different and new, as was the supportive role of playing chords out of fake books. Even then, there were some giant steps for her to take to join any caravan of players. The improvisation, the steadiness, the feeling--Riko wished she had the feeling to tackle jazz, but her fingers sang best in classical tunes, but even then, Rachmaninoff never translated to Miller or Coltrane.

Riko was out of the mood.

It didn’t stop her from indulging in jazz in another way, one that she felt fit more snug than the cocktail dress she wore. She had overheard some jazz-loving folks in college say that the only way to truly appreciate jazz was to go to the clubs, to taste the smoke of the speakeasies and to indulge in the darkness of a club like a warm blanket as saxophones became impulsive songbirds driven only by those blowing air into the horn. It took a few times at jazz clubs to get the feel of it, but once she did, it had become something different. It went from the art to an experience, and there were no mirrors she could find to compliment the smoky atmosphere outside of whatever led the musicians to play how they did.

And that was to say nothing of the personnel, the cats who got up there and let their feelings out in the best way they could. Every syllable rang rich with emotion, every hit on the ride a small drip of catharsis. Even without the understanding Riko wished she had, she heard the soul that bled from every moment of sound, providing themselves the same escape that they gave their crowds who couldn’t find ways to avoid giving praise if they tried. Even during the open mic nights, where people with a beer too many on their breath tried to read the room of the stage and follow along in chaos, never faltered as long as they kept pushing themselves, kept going, kept improvising and not stuttering on anything and letting themselves out in the most shameless of ways.

It may have been relatively amateurish, but it was still jazz to Riko, and that was all she could ask for. 

But even given its amateurish standings, she never found herself up there, singing and getting her feelings out there. It wasn’t that she didn’t know standards; she knew a few on the piano and the tunes of some cats she could easily sing back, but there wasn’t that feeling in her, the spirit to stand and to do something uncalculated. Never had she thrown herself into things without others’ help, and given the mixture of salarymen and other appreciators being older, much older, there hadn’t been a point in trying to look for a reason to push. So she listened, happy to indulge in what the club offered; it wasn’t like there weren’t many people doing so as well.

And that was exactly how Riko thought her night would go: yet another open night where she indulged in the music without giving a second thought to perform.

Then Maki stepped in.

Riko had heard the rumors of Maki not from the club, but from before, back in high school when she dabbled in idols with the help of one of her neighbors. That neighbor talked a lot about Maki, the magnificent composer for one of her favorite groups. She had looked into her music, her performances, and it had been stunning that stuff that she was doing in her freshman year of high school. Another friend in that group, one with hair just as red as Maki, talked at length about how Maki had been tenacious, that each piece was a statement of her independence from the medical career she was to be thrown into once high school ended.

And that tenacity was what gave Maki the right to jazz, the most free form of catharsis most easily brought out after a long day at the hospital (if her knowledge was correct).

The statuesque figure that Maki’s dress hid--one that was imposing in its own rights--was easily the least intimidating thing about her; either that, or the tenacity she had in coming up with her stage name, one which she learned as she stepped onto the stage after the set of the previous performers. The emcee calling her the Diamond Princess was a fittingly foreboding title for her just from her looks alone, and how she held herself, but as she sat at the piano, there was more than enough reasons to be nervous around her, besides her looks.

The jazz.

Oh, goodness, the jazz. She didn’t need a trio to back her up. No need for horns, drums, or even guitars: the chords she played were enough, a solo rhapsody of swing and soul and pure emotion. It wasn’t often that the club fell completely silent, especially when there was only one woman on stage, but outside of the piano, Riko could only hear a glass being set on the bar beside her.

And the way she sung, oh how she sung: the only thing worthy of complimenting her piano was her voice. Husky and dark, yet so alluring, the Diamond Princess was worthy of nicknaming herself a siren, bound to bring even the strongest of folks to their knees, to produce emotions nobody felt capable of finding themselves.

And for Riko, that was no different. The Diamond Princess was a worthy muse, one that led her not only to stand once she finished her songs, but wanted to get closer to. Maybe she could learn a thing or two from her, much beyond the words of praise that grew more flowery the more she thought of them. Even the teetotaler that Riko was, she was drunk on the Diamond Princess’ music, drunk on the way she banged into the piano to let everything out, drunk on the way she looked while doing it. Sober intoxication never felt so nice, especially as it let her weave through the crowds until she was next to the stage, almost eager to step up.

Had Riko been in the Diamond Princess’ spot, she wouldn’t have noticed someone approaching the stage so closely--she wouldn’t have pulled her focus away from her music for any reason. Somehow, as if it were a display of her performance prowess, the Diamond Princess stared at Riko as she played, as if knowing that she was impatient to step up to the mic. Nervous anticipation settled in immensely, the focus in the performer’s eyes boring straight through Riko as if it were a hot knife through butter. Even with her chest beating into her throat she stood, not willing to back down; she didn’t know where this surge of courage came from, but it was the kind of tenacity she needed to have if she wanted to step up to the stage, accompaniment from the Diamond Princess or not.

Then the room fell silent. It wasn’t like Riko hadn’t expected it; the chords found their way home and the chart the Diamond Princess played ended in the best way. She was the first, and probably the loudest, to give her cheers, as willing to support the lovely pianist--and the equally-lovely way she played the piano--as she was to perform with her. Completely overjoyed by the playing, she hadn’t even noticed that onstage, she watched as the Princess’ lips curled up into a smile.

That was, until she stood, sauntered to the stage right where she was, and pulled her out of the audience by the wrist.

The step upward wasn’t huge, but it was enough to send Riko off-guard. Stumbling onto the stage, she swore she heard her heart more than the Diamond Princess besides her.

“You seem like someone who can carry a tune. What’s your name?”

It took a bit of time for Riko to catch her breath enough to respond, her words almost a whisper even as she put every bit of effort she could into speaking up. “Sakurauchi Riko,” she huffed.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen! Put your hands together for the stunning Ms. Sakurauchi!”

Riko turned around to face the audience, almost disturbed by how much larger the group felt when she wasn’t a part of it. Even with her time spent doing classical competitions, recitals,  _ idol performances in Akiba dome _ , this felt like the biggest place she had ever been in, even if it were a relatively small speakeasy. Maybe it was because of the siren looming next to her, the Diamond Princess with whom she shared the stage while she lacked a nickname for herself, but even with her endearing and encouraging smile, Riko felt no ease, just more pressure to do it right.

“Do you know any charts, or do you want to just improv for a bit?” she asked Riko.

“Improv would be nice!” Riko remarked, not because of her lack of knowledge of charts, but rather because she didn’t want to screw them up. Not on stage, and especially not besides her. Charts, for now, were reserved for her shower.

The Diamond Princess sauntered to the piano after hearing Riko’s question, and before she could think, the music had already begun, slow and sensual arpeggiations that easily resembled a ballad. Taking the time to understand the progression, and giving herself a bar of relaxation, Riko closed her eyes, letting out the first syllables that came to mind.

Riko didn’t know what she was singing, what she was saying, but what mattered to her was the how and why. How great it sounded with the Diamond Princess behind her, and why she was there, singing, meant so much more. The joyousness that she felt as she sang, letting herself be free of the cares of the world and even how her accompanist thought of her tune, was what mattered to her, and any other care wasn’t worth thinking about.

It was about performing jazz, not worrying about how things would go. It was about the way that she sang and how she made the melody, and how she was accompanied and how she even heard fragments of her melody sung by the Diamond Princess’ fingers. She kept herself relaxed and easygoing, not wishing for her worries to make the ballad into a hard bop chart. Even if it was the way her racing heart wanted to go, she knew better, and went the other way: she sang.

What words came out mattered much less than what she sang about, each word lingering as it discussed the topic of coming close to a beauty. It might have been a cliche topic, but it was one that Riko was--had just become--experienced to. She might have not been a natural lyricist--vocal duties for the idol music she wrote were her neighbor’s--but to let it out, to get her emotions out in a way that felt right, even if it felt awkward to say, was what mattered, and she knew the reasons behind her song, even if a lot of people saw her approaching the stage, were oddly secret and personal. It was a confessional in song form, from the lyrics she chose to the haunting delivery she gave, all accompanied by her, the Diamond Princess, the one who was most responsible for bringing Riko the idea and key alike.

Before she even knew it, the chart had found its way. The music found a proper cadence while the poem found a reasonable ending, even giving Riko a bit of time to scat the melody on top of the accompaniment one final time before the work was over, and the applause was rapturious. The way Riko applauded the Diamond Princess was the way most people applauded her, and between her bows with Maki, she let out several sighs of relief: one was not enough to showcase the catharsis she went through.

However, that was it for her. Her one song on stage with the Diamond Princess had passed. The sole time where she shared music with Maki was complete, and she took a few steps away from the stage, about to cross the Diamond Princess before she could start her next tune.

That was until she felt her grab her wrist.

“I don’t think I’m done playing with you.” She spoke with conviction, a smile etched on the corners of her lips. “Do you have another song you’d want to sing?”

“I-I,” Riko stammered over herself, trying to figure out what was going on. The Diamond Princess herself wanted to keep sharing the stage? Even if making jazz was an art Riko was unfamiliar with, a music that oddly tired her, she wasn’t going to deny a second chance to sing with her.

Her return to her spot downstage was met with an applause, almost as if it were for her, as if every person on that stage agreed that she was worthy of being on stage with the Diamond Princess. A wave of relief washed over her, her gut falling further than it could have ever before, as she brought her fists into balls, almost unable to contain the excitement that coursed through her body.

And like the last fit of excitement by being on stage with the Diamond Princess, Riko sang, unafraid to let herself do the jazz she loved.

And that was enough for her to get Maki’s business card at the end of the set.

**Author's Note:**

> Got any requests, ideas, or just want to hang out? [Come join my discord](https://discord.gg/YJPVY4K) or follow me on twitter: [@usermechanics](https://twitter.com/usermechanics)


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